


You've Got a Friend in Me

by ladiesleaveyourmanathome



Category: Carol (2015)
Genre: F/F, Female Friendship, Gen, Post-Canon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-02
Updated: 2019-02-02
Packaged: 2019-10-21 02:55:35
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,660
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17634686
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ladiesleaveyourmanathome/pseuds/ladiesleaveyourmanathome
Summary: Therese Belivet makes friends and forgives her lover.





	You've Got a Friend in Me

A week after they return to New York, Therese gets a call from Abby.

“How are you holding up, kid?” Abby asks.

_Kid_. Therese hates it, hates Abby’s patronizing jocularity, hates hearing Abby’s voice through the telephone when she should be hearing Carol’s. She grits her teeth and says nothing.

On the other end of the line, Abby sighs. “Look, Therese, just let me know you’re doing all right, and I’ll leave you alone.”

“Why? So you can run to her and tell her everything is fine? It’s not.”

There’s a long pause. “Of course it’s not,” Abby replies after a moment. “I know it isn’t. And I’m not spying for Carol, not that you’ll believe me.”

“Then why are you calling?”

Another lengthy silence ensues. “I do have some idea of what this is like, you know,” Abby says. “And you – well. You didn’t look so hot when I dropped you off.”

Therese remembers standing on the curb with her valise, watching Abby drive Carol’s car away from her, wondering if she should just lay down in the gutter and leave it at that. The memory brings back a rush of emotion, and tears prickle her eyes. “Thank you for calling,” she mumbles into the receiver, embarrassed at the thick sound of her voice. “Goodnight.”

 

 

Abby calls again a week later, and again the week after that, and another time after that. Therese remains unconvinced that she isn’t tattling to Carol, but decides it’s not a battle worth fighting.

“I got that job at the Times,” she tells Abby during their fourth conversation.

“Well, aren’t you a little shining star?” Abby replies, caustic as ever.

Therese isn’t fooled. She can hear the pride under the sarcasm in Abby’s voice. “It’s all men in the office,” Therese informs her.

“Maybe you’ll find a husband.”

“Don’t be ridiculous,” Therese scoffs. She knows, now, where she stands in the world – and Carol or not, it won’t be beside a man.

Abby chuckles knowingly. “Working with men isn’t so bad,” she tells Therese. “The first month will be the worst – you won’t be able to turn left without getting an invitation to dinner. But they’ll get the picture eventually.”

“I hope so,” A thought occurs to her, and she asks, “What do you tell people? When they ask why you aren’t married, I mean?”

“That it’s none of their goddamn business,” Abby replies tartly. Therese giggles. “Sometimes, if I must, I invent a dead husband. That usually puts an end to the questions.”

“I’ll bear that in mind."

"You're a smart girl, Therese," Abby says. "You'll be just fine."

 

 

Carol writes; Carol returns; Carol tells her she loves her, and she lets Carol back into her life. Their first night back together is more pain than pleasure; they both cry, and Therese’s twin bed feels too small for all the hurt between them. In the morning, Carol hovers nearby wherever Therese moves until Therese becomes exasperated and tells her to leave. As soon as the door closes behind her, Therese regrets it, but knows she can’t drag Carol back inside – not now, not if she wants her newly reopened wounds to stitch themselves closed before she rips them apart again.

As the afternoon wears on, she finds herself wanting to call Abby, to seek her counsel and her commiseration. She knows she cannot – Abby is Carol’s friend, first and foremost, and if the misery on Carol’s face that morning was any indication, she’ll need Abby more than Therese does anyway. Therese does her best not to resent it, and calls Dannie instead.

She meets up with him and Phil at a bar and has already had two beers when Genevieve Cantrell joins them. She remembers their conversation at the party the night before; the way Genevieve had looked her up and down; how exciting it was to be the object of such interest, and also how her excitement about Genevieve paled in comparison to her feelings for Carol. In that moment, she’d known she would go to the Oak Room; how could she have gone anywhere else?

Genevieve asks essentially the same question during a moment where Phil and Dannie are up getting drinks. “Don’t tell me you’re immune to my charms,” she purrs. “There must be someone else. Who is she?”

Therese freezes, panicked, and shoots a furtive look around the room. No one is watching them, and Phil and Dannie are still waiting for the bartender. Still, she can feel her face heating up.

Genevieve’s expression softens, and she drops the vamp act. “I’m sorry, Therese, I didn’t mean to upset you,” she says, quiet and genuine. “I was just curious.”

“I-it’s okay,” Therese stutters. “I’m just – not used to talking about it.”

Genevieve gives her a meaningful smile. “Believe me, I understand.”

She starts to say something else, but Dannie and Phil are on their way back to the table, and she squeezes Therese’s shoulder instead. It’s a small thing, but it helps Therese feel less alone, and when they finally make their way out at closing, Therese gives Genevieve a proper hug.

 

 

Carol answers on the first ring when Therese calls the next afternoon. Her voice is hoarse and weary, and Therese’s heart aches. “Can I see you this evening?” she asks.

There’s a pause before Carol replies, “Oh, well, yes!” all in a rush. She clears her throat. “Can I take you to dinner?”

Therese doesn’t particularly care what they do, but the urge to push back at Carol and her many whims has not yet faded. “I would rather stay in.”

“Of course, darling,” Carol acquiesces smoothly. “I’ll make something for us. Be over at seven?”

“All right.”

She arrives with flowers, because Carol cooked, and Carol’s eyes fill with tears when she presents them. “They’re nothing special,” she mumbles, mortified.

“Nonsense. They’re beautiful. Let me put them in a vase.”

While Carol manages the flowers, Therese looks around the apartment, which is smaller than Carol’s old house but palatial by any reasonable standards. All the walls are bright white. It makes the space feel open and airy, albeit somewhat clinical. Therese wonders whether she can convince Carol to do some painting.

“This place suits you,” she calls.

Carol pokes her head out of the kitchen, eyes shining. “You think so? I did hope you would like it.”

“I’m still not going to move in.”

Some of the glee fades from Carol’s expression, and she looks down at her apron, picking at an imaginary piece of lint. Therese crosses the living room to stand in front of her.

“I am going to visit, though,” she tells the crown of Carol’s head. “Often, I hope.”

Carol’s chin snaps up. “Really?” she whispers. “You want to –?”

Therese nods, and Carol makes a strangled sobbing noise, pitching forward into Therese’s arms. “Thank God,” she murmurs into Therese’s neck. “Thank _you_.”

 

 

Therese doesn’t stay that night, because she has work the next day and no change of clothes, but leaves Carol with a series of deep, slow kisses that have them both gasping. “When will I see you again?” Carol asks, a very flattering note of desperation in her voice as she slides her hands over Therese’s waist.

“Wednesday night?” Therese suggests, feeling rather desperate herself.

“I’ll come to you,” Carol promises, and then steals another kiss that Therese can feel all the way to her toes.

“Pack a bag,” she says. Carol’s eyes sparkle.

The next three days are interminable, but the monotony is at least interrupted when Genevieve stops by the Times on Tuesday to say hello to Dannie and Therese, both of whom are working late.

“I’m going to get some coffee,” Dannie says before Genevieve has even had a chance to enter the room. He rushes to stand up. “Want anything, Belivet?”

Therese shakes her head and he strides out. Genevieve, watching him go, rolls her eyes. “What is it?” Therese asks.

“He’s trying to set us up.”

“He’s _what_?”

Genevieve waves her hand dismissively. “He’s convinced you’re still pining over that woman, and that the perfect solution is to get you together with me.” She fixes Therese with a penetrating stare, and Therese tries not to quail. “But you’re not pining, are you?”

Therese thinks about Carol’s lips, the way she pinned Therese against the door with her whole body before she finally let Therese slip out to go home. “I’m not pining,” she admits.

The way Genevieve smirks at her, suggestive and conspiratorial, is thrilling. This is what it was supposed to feel like, Therese thinks, when the girls at school got together to talk about boys – furtive, dramatic, genuinely exciting. She didn’t understand it then, and always felt like a bit of an odd duck as a result, but now…

“Look at you,” Genevieve drawls. “Like the cat who got the cream. You’ll have to tell Dannie I don’t have a chance; he won’t believe me.”

Therese giggles, but sobers quickly. “I didn’t realize how much he knew,” she says. “He asked about her, but I never –“

“He’s a perceptive boy, that Dannie is,” Genevieve replies. “You don’t have to worry. He’s a good egg.” She pauses, tilts her head, and raises her voice. “Except for the fact that he’s a sneaky, spying pervert! Get in here, McElroy.”

Busted, Dannie slinks through the door. He hands Therese a coffee she didn’t ask for, and shoves his hands in his pockets. “I wasn’t eavesdropping,” he protests. “I just didn’t want to intrude.”

“There’s nothing to intrude on,” Therese tells him, hoping he’ll understand what she’s really saying. “Not here.”

He looks at her closely, then nods. “All right, Therese,” he replies, and she knows that he knows. “That’s good.”

 

 

Carol comes over on Wednesday as promised, and they waste no time in falling into bed. It’s a vast improvement over their first night back together. Carol has shed her moping and self-recriminations, and throws herself into Therese’s embrace with a more familiar – and much more enticing – whirlwind of delight and mischief and passion, to which Therese responds in kind.

They make love for hours. Therese is amazed at how freeing it is to do so without the shadow of guilt hanging over them. That first time in Waterloo, the specter of Carol’s marriage loomed, and of course the second night was as much about grief and fear as it was about desire. Now, even in Therese’s small, dark bedroom in her small, dark apartment, their coupling feels wide open and alight with joy.

“Like that,” she gasps, and Carol listens.

“More there,” she pleads, and Carol responds.

“What do you want?” she asks, and Carol shows her.

Afterwards, when Carol has finally pushed Therese’s head from between her legs, gasping, “No – no more – I can’t take it,” they lay side by side on Therese’s sheets, holding hands.

“Are you hungry?” Carol asks.

It must be very late, but Therese feels completely satisfied, and she tells Carol as much. The smile she gets in return is so wicked she’s almost tempted to tug at Carol’s hand, put Carol’s fingers between her legs again. But Carol isn’t the only one who needs a rest, and so Therese simply squeezes her palm.

“Do you want to come over Friday?” Carol asks. “I’d suggest tomorrow, but I told Abby I could have dinner.”

She says Abby’s name carefully, like she’s setting a piece of delicate china on a rickety table. Therese can feel Carol’s eyes on her; knows Carol is monitoring her response. “Friday is good,” she replies evenly. “Where are you and Abby going?”

“Some steakhouse.” Carol wrinkles her nose. “Not my cup of tea, but Abby’s seeing the owner, so I suppose I’ll have to pretend to enjoy myself.”

Therese rolls onto her side. Carol stays on her back, still looking rather nervous. “I’m jealous,” Therese says, watching a muscle start to tic in Carol’s jaw. “I’d like to meet Joan.”

Carol’s apprehension is replaced instantly by bemusement. “How do you know about Joan?” she demands. “Have you been talking to Abby?”

“She called me a few times after we got back to New York.” Therese has to bite her cheek to keep from laughing at the comical mixture of confusion and outrage on Carol’s face. “Didn’t she tell you?”

“No!” Carol exclaims, propping herself up on her elbow. “She said she’d heard about your job at the Times, but that’s it. You were talking to her the whole time?”

Therese, sensing that Carol’s surprise is at risk of devolving into actual distress, responds quickly: “Just a handful of times. Maybe once a week.” Carol frowns. “She was being kind, Carol. I think she wanted to make sure I was all right.”

Carol huffs, but the thunderclouds start to clear. “I can’t believe she didn’t tell me.”

“She promised me she wasn’t spying for you. I didn’t believe her, but I guess she was telling the truth.”

Carol considers that for a moment. “Abby has always been more tenderhearted than she lets on,” she muses. “Shall I ask her if you can join us tomorrow night? So you can meet the infamous Joan?”

“No, you should go by yourself,” Therese replies. She drapes an arm over Carol’s waist and pulls her closer. “Bring me next time.”

 

 

During work on Thursday, Therese spends most of her empty moments thinking about Carol, and Carol’s body, and their lovemaking. She wonders if the night before had been a fluke – a duration and intensity of pleasure that a person could only experience once, and never again. By the time Friday night rolls around, she has convinced herself that such an encounter could never be repeated, and that she will have to content herself with briefer, more modest pleasures at Carol’s hand – still agreeable, of course, but far less potent.

She is laying sideways across the mattress, moaning and biting down on her wrist to muffle the sound, when she realizes just how wrong she was. They’ve skipped dinner again, and there’s a breadcrumb trail of Therese’s clothes leading from the front door to the couch in the living room, and from there to the bed where they are now.

“Sweet one,” Carol murmurs, sounding the way she usually does after a glass of whiskey. She is kneeling on the mattress, one of Therese’s legs hooked around her and Therese’s hips bucking against her hand. “Does this feel good?”

Therese nods frantically, thrashing as Carol pushes into her, using the weight of her whole body to drive her fingers deep. There’s a tingling creeping up from the base of Therese’s spine, coiling in her stomach and spiraling down her thighs like vines. “S-so g-good,” she gasps.

Taking Therese’s raised leg in her hand, Carol pushes it forward so that her knee is nearly flush against her chest, leaving her wide open. Those long fingers press impossibly deeper, and Therese starts to shake. On her next thrust, Carol tilts her head to bite the soft skin above Therese’s knee, and Therese feels the coils of pleasure snap and tighten around her belly, lifting her hips off the bed and drawing a cry from her mouth as she shakes apart.

“Good girl,” Carol murmurs, letting Therese’s leg down and continuing to rub slow, shallow circles inside of her. “Do you have more?”

_I will always, always have more for you_ , Therese thinks, half-delirious. She wants her turn with Carol, of course, but they do have all night, and tomorrow _is_ Saturday. “Yes,” she whispers, reaching up to touch the edge of Carol’s sharp, pleased smile. “Please, yes.”

 

 

The next day, Therese is in the middle of a lovely dream about goats when loud ringing wakes her. Carol slips out of bed and pulls on her robe before padding over to the phone. “Hello?” she says into the receiver. “Oh, good morning, Abby.”

The robe, tied haphazardly, hangs off one of Carol’s perfect, creamy shoulders. Therese’s mouth waters.

“Today? No, I’m afraid not, darling,” Carol says in response to a question from Abby. She rolls her eyes for Therese’s benefit. “It just isn’t a good time. What? Of course not.”

There’s a pause, and Abby says something that makes Carol blush, a bright red bloom across her chest. Therese grins at the sight. “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Carol says, trying to sound arch but failing miserably. “Why would you – Abby! I never – oh, all right. Yes. She’s here.”

Another pause, and a sly smirk from Carol: “Well, you could, but we just woke up.” Her gaze rakes over Therese’s body, which is only partially obscured by the covers. “And I’m afraid some of us are rather less ready to greet the day than others.”

Abby must say something provocative, because Carol’s blush deepens even further. “That sounds about right.” She laughs, tossing her head back. “Yes. Quite. Why don’t you come over for breakfast tomorrow instead? We’ll make eggs. All right. Goodbye.”

She hangs up and turns to Therese, a prurient glint in her eye. “Well,” she purrs. “Where were we?”

Therese adjusts the sheets around herself, letting them dip low over her chest. “What did Abby want?”

“She wondered if I might join her for lunch.” Carol takes her time sauntering back over to the bed.

“Hmmm. Might you?”

Carol pretends to consider it. “I might,” she says, pausing next to the mattress and toying with the belt of her robe. “Then again, I might not.”

Therese looks up, basking in the sight of her. The midday sun streaming through the windows lights up her hair like a halo and casts a bright glow over her skin. She looks ethereal, almost otherworldly. “You call me the angel,” Therese murmurs, reaching for Carol’s hand and holding it loosely. “But really, it’s you.”

Carol just smiles beatifically and tugs harder on her belt, undoing the knot and letting the fabric fall open; an echo of their very first time together. Therese shifts forward, kneeling at the edge of the bed, and slides her arms around Carol’s waist beneath the robe. She leans her forehead on Carol’s chest; presses her lips to Carol’s sternum; pauses there for a moment in silent reverence before kissing her way between Carol’s legs, doing her part to ensure that they’ll miss at least one more meal this week.

 

 

Having worn themselves out in bed for the better part of Saturday afternoon, Carol and Therese actually manage to fall asleep and awaken at a reasonable hour – a very good thing, since Abby rings up to Carol’s apartment at nine o’clock sharp. “Morning, lovebirds,” she says, breezing in with a bag of oranges in one hand and a bottle of champagne in the other. Carol raises an eyebrow. “It’s the weekend, Carol, lighten up. Hi, Therese.”

“Hi Abby,” Therese replies, grinning. “It’s good to see you.”

“You talking to me, or the wine?”

Therese just shakes her head and giggles, and Abby heads into the kitchen to deposit her provisions, Carol trailing behind. They set up next to each other at the counter, Abby wrestling with the cork while Carol slices the oranges. Therese hangs back in the doorway, watching them.

A strange, invisible adjustment transpires the longer Carol and Abby stand together – almost as though the room itself is exhaling in relief. The solvent and the solution, Therese thinks, watching the way they soften and lean into each other, trading nonsensical barbs back and forth and snickering for no particular reason. It’s easy to imagine them at twelve and at twenty-two and at thirty; easy to imagine their inevitable romance; easiest of all to see them as they are now: thick as thieves, braided together, loving deeply but not in love.

Abby mutters something under her breath, and Carol doubles over laughing – a high, pure, joyful sound very unlike the usual well-behaved chuckle she allows herself around company, and even around Therese. Abby glances over to find Therese watching them. She smiles, not unkindly, but not particularly sweetly either. “Ever seen this side of her?”

“No,” Therese admits. “This is new.”

Carol, clutching a kitchen knife and still half bent over, looks stricken.

“Harge couldn’t stand it,” Abby says. It doesn’t take a genius to hear the challenge in her voice, but there’s something encouraging there, too – like she _wants_ Therese to win, to prove herself.

“Abby,” Carol warns, a bit of the usual steel returning to her spine.

Abby doesn’t flinch, just pours some champagne into a glass, squeezes in a wedge of orange juice, and reaches across Carol to offer it to Therese. They lock eyes.

“I get the sense that Harge couldn’t stand anything he couldn’t control,” Therese says, taking the drink. She sips and, emboldened, adds, “I rather like it.”

She can tell she’s passed the test by the infinitesimal change in Abby’s smile – more impish, now, less guarded – and by the way Carol’s shoulders relax. The two of them look at each other, and Therese can see them having a whole conversation in a glance: Carol, admonishing and fond and grateful, and Abby, stubborn and approving and generous. “The quiche is almost done,” Carol says, and Therese hears her saying something else entirely.

She knows she could be jealous, that it would make perfect sense to be discomfited by this relationship laid out before her, and yet all she feels is happiness. It is a gift, she thinks, carrying two glasses to the table while Abby pours herself some coffee and Carol checks the oven, to be in the presence of such great love; to exist within its sphere; to travel through the door it opens to a new and undiscovered part of the woman she adores. She turns around and Abby is there, offering her a sidelong embrace.

“I’m glad you’re here, kid,” Abby whispers, not quite loud enough for Carol to catch.

“Yes,” Therese murmurs, squeezing her arm affectionately. “I am too.”


End file.
